


ribcage garden

by wordstruck



Series: i and yours and ours (iwaoi one-shots) [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Iwaizumi Hajime, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Jealousy, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Oikawa Tooru, Pining Iwaizumi Hajime, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27044011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordstruck/pseuds/wordstruck
Summary: Perhaps there will be better omegas out there for Hajime to be with, but none of them are Tooru, and it’s Tooru whom he loves.Happily, helplessly, desperately — Hajime loves him.He’s never said anything about it.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Series: i and yours and ours (iwaoi one-shots) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875211
Comments: 7
Kudos: 310





	ribcage garden

**Author's Note:**

> second comm for [Hann](https://twitter.com/hqchibis), also iwaoi!! this time she asked for omegaverse iwaoi, with beta!iwa being insecure about his crush on omega!oikawa, and oikawa getting annoyed at him for that. deviated a teeny bit from the prompt XD
> 
> when will i ever NOT make iwaizumi pine for oikawa pls. also idc man I LIKE THE PRETENTIOUS TITLE thank u.

* * *

Hajime doesn’t know when he’d fallen in love with Oikawa Tooru.

Perhaps there was no defining moment, no pin-drop in which he realizes _ah_ , this annoying omega brat is it _._ Perhaps Tooru simply made his way into Hajime’s heart the same way he’d appeared in Hajime’s life — bulldozing his way in, loud and exasperating and impossible. Between one day and the next Hajime blinked and found Tooru already _there,_ putting down roots without permission. 

Still, Hajime doesn’t mind. There might be better omegas — more docile ones, with softer edges, who aren’t so wilful and infuriating and obnoxious — but none of them are Tooru. None of them have Tooru’s sunbright smile or bronze-flecked hair or practice-worn fingers. None of them have that single-minded determination that makes Tooru chase volleyball like he’s running out of time. None of them have broad shoulders like Tooru, carrying all those expectations, his whole team, while making it all look weightless.

So perhaps there will be better omegas out there for Hajime to be with, but none of them are Tooru, and it’s Tooru whom he loves.

Happily, helplessly, desperately — Hajime loves him.

He’s never said anything about it.

It’s — complicated, on many levels. That he’s known Tooru this long is a blessing and a curse. He’s the one who knows Tooru best — can differentiate his moods, kick his ass when needed — but it also means he’s stuck at Tooru’s side as the best friend, as the freckled kid who used to catch bugs and freak Tooru out with them. It’s difficult to consider yourself a romantic prospect for the person you not-so-accidentally dunked into a shrimp-filled river when you were eight.

Then there’s Tooru’s personality which, even at a young age, had been overwhelming. Hajime’s always known Tooru’s tenacity and conviction would set him apart, but now that they’re eighteen — now that they’re on the cusp of adulthood and all the uncertainty of their future — it makes him feel a little more out of reach. Hajime’s spent much of his life keeping up with the whirlwind of Oikawa Tooru and his unrelenting pursuit of volleyball; now it feels like any misstep means he’ll fall behind, and soon Tooru will be out of reach.

(Hajime’s perfectly aware he’s being dramatic, but he’s also eighteen years old and pining. And it’s not like Mattsun and Makki can hear his thoughts, anyway.)

There are times, when it’s just them — when they’re studying in Hajime’s living room; when they’re together at a festival, Tooru in his yukata, rose and gold under the lantern lights; when they’re walking home together like they’ve done every day since they were seven — and Hajime thinks, maybe he’ll be brave today. Maybe he’ll reach out and take Tooru’s hand, thread their fingers together and smile. Maybe he’ll lean in and kiss Tooru, once, light, sweet. Maybe he’ll let all these quiet-cradled feelings spill over and maybe, maybe Tooru will return them in kind.

Each time, though, Hajime lets the moment pass him by. And he knows he’s being a coward, but there’s just — too much to risk, and too much to ruin. He doesn’t want Tooru to pull away, not now, not when everything feels so precarious.

It’s funny and it’s not, how Tooru makes him feel so invincible on the court and so hesitant off of it.

Still, Hajime tells himself he has time. Wherever they choose to go after this last year — wherever their careers and choices take them — he’ll always have Tooru within arm’s reach. He can continue walking beside this sunbright boy, letting the vines of his adoration tangle up his ribs until they overgrow his hesitations.

Hajime has all the time until he doesn’t.

It’s an alpha.

Hajime can smell him, even across the gym — he smells like the ocean, saltwater and wind. He’s scenting purposely, has to be; there’s no other reason Hajime would pick up on it otherwise. The alpha grins, leans in to murmur something, and Tooru—

Tooru throws his head back and laughs, and Hajime feels something cold trickle down his spine.

It’s the captain of the baseball team, Hajime realizes — Nakahara or Nakamata or something like that. He’s in their year and is the ace. Hajime, Tooru, Mattsun and Makki have watched them practice or play a few times, enough for Hajime to know the guy has talent. The team had gone to Koshien last year, he remembers, although they’d lost in the second round.

There was a student council meeting for club captains, something of the sort, which was why Hajime had led the pre-practice warm-ups in Tooru’s place. But the baseball field is in the opposite direction of the volleyball gym, so there’s no reason for Nakajima? Nakagawa? to be here with Tooru, to be leaning in so close, to have a hand hovering over the small of Tooru’s back. There’s _definitely_ no reason for him to be standing at Tooru’s side as if he belongs there. Hajime can’t tear his eyes away from where the guy (Nakano? Nakao?) is keeping Tooru at the gym entrance, rambling on about something-or-other, delaying Tooru from joining practice. He’s just about to walk over and rip Tooru away from (Namatame? Nanba?) when a ball thunks him in the side of the head.

“The _hell_ —” he snaps, jerking around to see just who threw that—

“Earth to vice captain,” Mattsun says, smirking. “We’re starting team drills.”

Hajime scowls, glancing over his shoulder to where Tooru’s saying something, gesturing animatedly. Before he can protest, Mattsun grabs him by the arm and starts hauling him to the far side of the gym.

“Leave them be,” he says, shrugging. “As if Oikawa would let any alpha get close. Or keep him from volleyball.”

Hajime’s not convinced, though objectively he can see Mattsun’s point. But he follows his friend over to where the rest of the team is lined up, ready to start their standard drills. He doesn’t look back to where Tooru’s still standing, laughing at something an alpha is saying, back turned to Hajime.

Tooru follows soon enough, apologizing for his tardiness and reassuring their coach that the meeting had gone well. And he’s no different from how he always is — checking on their rookies, gently chiding Yahaba, chatting with Watari — at least until he drifts closer. Hajime feels his metaphorical hackles rise as he catches Tooru’s scent, citrus and spice, tempered now with sea-salt and sand. He smells like that alpha captain and Hajime wants it _gone_ —

“I haven’t even done anything, Iwa-chan, why are you already scowling?” Tooru presses a hand to his chest, affronted and bemused. Hajime blinks, then attempts to loosen the rigid expression on his face.

“Because certain irresponsible captains were busy flirting instead of training,” he retorts, rolling his eyes and striding forward.

“Inter-club camaraderie is important, Vice Captain Iwa-chan,” Tooru replies loftily, tilting his chin up. “It’s not flirting, it’s called _getting along._ ”

Hajime barely restrains himself from socking Tooru on the shoulder. “Go warm up already, Your Tardiness,” he mutters, striding forward to take his place at the end line for the sprinting drill.

“Iwa-chan should work on his jealousy!” Tooru yells after him, but Hajime’s already running towards the other end of the court, covering his reaction with the burn in his lungs.

The thing is: Tooru’s not right but he’s also not wrong.

It’s not that Hajime wants to be flirted with, it’s that _Tooru’s_ the one being flirted with. Hajime thinks he’s justified in not wanting to watch people flirt with the boy he’s been in love with half his life. He resents these boys and girls for their easy affections, casual touches; the way they can so readily tell Tooru, _I think we should be together._ And part of it is because he doesn’t have quite the same courage despite being closer than any of them, but the rest—

Hajime touches two fingers to his scent gland as he bows his head to the running water of the shower. It’s not that he thinks he’s inadequate, or that he ascribes to the outdated rigid beliefs about pairbonds, but—

(But omegas like Tooru deserve an alpha who can stand as their equal. And Hajime is a steady, sturdy beta with a vanilla-sandalwood scent and nowhere near the same intensity.

His fear, all this time, buried deep under his lungs, is that he’s holding Tooru back.)

Hajime’s not jealous; he’s _envious._ He wants to be able to boldly claim Tooru as his partner and mate. He wants to be able to stand beside Tooru and bare his teeth when anyone dares come close. 

He wants Tooru, with all his impossibilities and imperfections.

He’s just not sure if he’s enough as he is, to demand all that love in exchange.

“Iwa-chan?” Tooru’s voice startles Hajime out of his thoughts, and he nearly inhales water as he jolts. “You’re going to turn into a prune if you stay there any longer, and if you get all wrinkly then you’ll look even worse tha—”

The wet slap of a towel to the face is worth the high-pitched screeching noise Tooru makes. Hajime bites down on a snort as he strides past his flailing friend to grab his clothing and change. He gets hit in the back of his head with his own towel, which makes everyone absolutely lose it. And this — this is safe, this is fine.

This is how they are, he and Tooru. And it’s fine.

It is not fine.

In hindsight, Hajime feels he might not have reacted the way he did if he hadn’t had such a crappy day. But he’d stayed up late the night before, frantically correcting his classic literature report, and then slept through his alarm this morning. The vending machine near the station had been out of his preferred coffee. They had two surprise quizzes. He’d fumbled his Japanese translation of an English poem. And he’d forgotten his bento at home, which meant having to buy food in a crowded cafeteria.

They don’t even have training today to make him feel better.

So Hajime is pissed off and wound up, which is a terrible combination on the best days. But today is when that baseball captain (Nishino? Nikaido?) decides to ambush them just as they’re getting their shoes in the front hall.

“Oikawa!” That _scent_ again, saltwater and wind, making Hajime struggle not to snarl. “Wait up!”

And Tooru — oblivious, careless Tooru — turns around and blinks in surprise as the alpha stumbles to a halt beside them, slightly out of breath.

“Glad I caught you,” he says, all boyish grin and swept-back hair. “I was wondering — if you were free, maybe you’d wanna come down to the pitch? We have a practice match against Wakunan, so it’ll be a good one, and if you’re there I’ll be extra good.”

“Ah—” Tooru glances at Hajime, and the baseball captain (Nakaoka? Nara?) jolts, smile turning sheepish.

“Ah, of course, your friend could come too, if he likes.”

Before Tooru can reply, Hajime bites out, “I’m standing right here, you know. You can talk _to_ me instead of about me.”

The alpha (Nagata? Noda?) looks taken aback at that, but he smooths his expression over quickly. “Sorry, uh — Iwaizumi-san, right? I didn’t mean — you’re free to watch too, if you—”

“It’s fine,” Hajime says, and every word feels like it’s being pulled through his teeth. “Go watch the game if you want. I’m going home.”

And without waiting for Tooru’s reply, he walks away.

Hajime makes it to the park a few blocks from school before Tooru comes crashing into him.

“ _Iwa-chan_.” Tooru sounds indignant and sulky, face splotchy in that way he gets when he’s upset but trying to suppress it. He frowns at Hajime, mouth twisted in a little pout. “You _left_ me.”

Hajime blinks, breath knocked out of him. “Well yeah, you were going to — that guy, the alpha, the game—”

Tooru’s pout intensifies. “But I walk home with _you._ ”

“You don’t have to—”

“I _want_ to.”

And that’s—

That’s.

Tooru glowers at him, then turns up his nose, stalking past Hajime in the direction of their train station. “Iwa-chan owes me strawberry milk for leaving me behind.”

Hajime stares after him, bemused. “But that alpha—”

His friend turns around, brow furrowed. He’s so familiar to Hajime — his spiced citrus scent, his flecked-bronze hair, his unrelenting intensity. He’s rose and gold in the afternoon sun, everything Hajime’s loved for so long.

“I don’t care,” Tooru declares, stubborn. “Iwa-chan is Iwa-chan.”

(Leave it to Oikawa Tooru to fracture Hajime in six words and then piece him together again.)

Hajime stares at Tooru. Tooru holds his gaze a few moments before his eyes slide away. There’s a dusting of color high on his cheeks that Hajime wants to touch, just to see if he can make it deepen. So he does, because right now he feels a little brave.

The skin under his fingers is sun-kissed-warm.

“Fine,” he mutters, pulling his hand away. Then, “I’m not buying you milk though.”

“Iwa-chan.”

“You have your own allowance.”

“ _Iwa-chan._ ”

“Buy it yourself.”

Tooru puffs his cheeks. Hajime grins. This is how they always are, but apparently also not, because the way Tooru looks at him now — indignant, haughty, and just a little bit apprehensive — that’s new. Hajime can’t deny that it makes him happy.

The vines around his ribs are restless, growing, but Hajime thinks, _not yet._

It’s fine, though. He knows now, he’s got time.

For now, he lets his hand brush against Tooru’s as they start walking to the station. Just once, soft. And for now, Tooru hooks their pinkies briefly in answer.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you guys like it!! come say hi on twitter, i'm [@redluxite](https://twitter.com/redluxite) and i yell about haikyuu, bnha, and other things A Lot. you can check there for ways to support my writing!


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